Figgie Hears English Is Dead as Latin or French or Physics or Doornails

TRADITION wears a tweed jacket and carries a big
Meershaum, packed to choking, Figgie learns,
with burned leavings of a hard-wired nation.
"Great Zeus!" proclaims her ancient classical colleague,
"They want us to use computers to turn in
grades! Preposterous! Barbaric! There's no human
contact left in universities! We work students with wires,
with webslights, with vicious bytes. Lost is the loving
touch of the hoary prof upon the bare
souls of his Literary Progeny. Where are the adoring
masses to fill literature classes? Where are the Gradual
Students to grade our papers and fix our coffee? Now,
tech takes the Holy Letter of the grade into its gelous
belly? And shocking news: my Aeschelus class got cancelled
for the seventh year in a row. English is dead."

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